


Who Am I

by bokeh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, First Kiss, M/M, POV First Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 19:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokeh/pseuds/bokeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How the stag night should have ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Am I

“You’re not really getting the hang of this game, are you Sherlock?”

No. Never played this game before. This was John’s idea. Don’t want to appear uncertain, must continue guessing. “So I’m human…” I begin. What else was I again?

“Wait,” says John. He reaches over to the table on his right for something. “If you don’t know who I am, at least pick someone else.” Now I identify the object in his hand, a felt-tip pen.

“I don’t know any famous people, John,” I point out. “I delete them.” I do. On principle mostly. Celebrities. Tedious.

“Then pick a person we actually know,” he says, and he sounds a little exasperated now. No, don’t want that. Who do I have enough data on, among people we know, to ensure that I can answer his questions? Mycroft, obviously, but John hardly knows him. Gavin, no wait, John said, not Gavin, what was it again? Clearly no good either. Molly? No. That leaves only John. Am confident I have sufficient data. Suspect it will be a bit unusual, him guessing his own name, but it will have to do. Don’t want to disappoint John.

“Ok,” I reply. Look down, notice the glass of whisky still in my hand. Carefully place it on the mantelpiece. I may be a little drunk, but not drunk enough to be careless with the glassware. John is already off his chair, kneeling on the floor before me, his left hand holding out the pen to me, his right on my knee for support. Support? How much exactly have we had to drink? Molly’s calculations were precise. Based on my estimates of the time we would spend at each location, and the total number of places to visit… Oh yes, the pen. Take it, look round for the Rizla papers.

“No, wait,” says John. “You might as well write it on here,” he points to his forehead with its attached paper, “rather than use another one.”

Carefully I cross out the name already there, fortunately it’s a fine felt tip, can write without pressing too hard. Begin to carefully write his name, as John balances himself with his left hand on my other knee. Perhaps he is affected by the alcohol?

It is not as simple a task as one might expect to write in capital letters on another person’s forehead (possibly need to experiment with this, under varying conditions?). Especially when the other person keeps moving during the process, or maybe it’s me, not quite sure. Have just completed the W of Watson when I become aware of his hands sliding slowly up my thighs. A lesser man might… react… to this. But I know it’s just John, my John, he doesn’t mean it like that, it never means that, we would never let such things get in the way of our friendship, never.

I realise I’ve stopped writing, and John slides his hands further, and now my body is reacting, I’m half-hard already and it must be clearly visible. Oh god. Don’t look down, John. Please don’t look down.

He doesn’t, he just looks straight at me with his eyes full of kindness, gentleness, as they always are, asks me a question.

“Has anyone ever… made a move on you, Sherlock?”

Colloquial turn of phrase, but I understand the question nonetheless. See a hint of a smile on one side of his mouth, he’s nervous, why?

“Yes. The Woman tried.” Boring. She was a criminal. A blackmailer. I do not have, would never have, any attraction to someone like her.

“Would you like someone to?” asks John.

Oh. Oh. Sudden understanding. Of what he’s actually asking me. What he’s asking without actually saying it out loud. He’s even closer now, I feel the tension throughout my entire body, feel the urge to run far, far away, anything rather than face this, the possibility that this might be real. Yet I can’t move.

And then John, my brave John, kisses me anyway, just briefly, the softest press of his lips on mine. He pulls back to look at me, waiting for my answer.

I know enough about human nature, about cause and effect. I know that if I say yes, he will kiss me again, touch me again, we will end up his bedroom, my bedroom, whichever, we will have sex, an unstoppable process, an inevitable chain of events. I know that if I say yes, he will become more precious to me than anything else in the world, my pressure point, my weakness for all of London’s criminals to exploit. I will put him in danger. An unchangeable decision. Have never done this before. I lack the practical experience.

Eventually I speak. “I don’t know… how.” I don’t. None of this.

“Sherlock.” John is speaking in his I’m-the-calm-and-reasonable-one-here voice. Unafraid. “We can take it slow. As slow as you like. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Ok?”

Oh John. This is why I love you. I nod my assent. To this. To John. To everything.

At that moment, I hear the front door slam downstairs, followed by Mrs Hudson’s steps on the stairs. John quickly moves back to his armchair, before she knocks and comes in.

“Client just called,” she tells us, “but as you’re, well… I took her details and asked her to call back tomorrow afternoon.” She passes me a torn-off rectangle of paper with a name and number scribbled on. “What are you two doing?”

“Who Am I,” I tell her.

“He means the game, he’s not actually asking who he is,” points out John.

She looks at the paper on my forehead, then the paper on John’s, then shakes her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it’s first person present tense - I wanted to try writing in the style of ivyblossom's The Progress of Sherlock Holmes, which I love, I hope it works!


End file.
